


Eyes Never Lie

by KenrakenOkwaho



Series: The Lion And The Stallion (Soulmates AUs) [1]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eye Color, Fate & Destiny, First Meetings, Gods, Greek - Freeform, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Heterochromia, I Don't Even Know, Implied Slash, Introspection, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, No Smut, Pre-Slash, Prophetic Dreams, Single POV, Soulmates, Trojan War, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12967758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenrakenOkwaho/pseuds/KenrakenOkwaho
Summary: A soulmate is rare in a world governed by war and chase of glory. It's even rarer for the gods to favour the union of a lion and a stallion.





	1. Fated Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty ambiguous, I know, but my mind just wouldn't give it a rest until I post it so here it is. Hope it's somewhat interesting.
> 
> Enjoy and leave your feedback in the comments, please, it means a lot!

Hector is only five years old when he first babbles questioningly to his mother about why his eyes have different colours, nothing but an innocent child who has not seen the brutal world of blood and internecine war. She smiles and tells him he is much too young to understand the secrets of his soul as she cradles his frail form into her warm embrace, lullabies murmured in the night dancing with the waves, the sky, the moon and twinkling stars.

 

The second time, he asks with an unwavering tone, already a warrior in the making, a decade of age sapling terribly new to the fine arts of combat, strategy and tactical proficiency, but full of promise and a courage that rises far beyond the realm of mortals. Content and exhausted, the prince trudges away from the training ground and right towards his mother's chambers, muscles still burning with the heat of intense sparring while his mind spins with impatient curiosity. Ever since he can remember, he has been wondering why he feels so incomplete, so out-of-place, so torn in half. In the beginning, he blamed the contrast between his eyes, bright and evident, be it in the pitch-black of the night or the blinding gilded glow of sunrays.

 

"Mother, what is a soulmate?"

 

Hecuba lets her lips tilt into a gentle smile, a mirror image of the smile gracing her delicate features that night, five summers ago, a time when he could barely utter complex phrases let alone understand the weight of what he was asking. She has been waiting for this very moment to arrive for quite a while, the moment when her beloved son would once more seek the answer to his plaguing question, the reason why the dark abyss of molten brown veiling his right iris does not match the waves of deep Aegean blue swirling in his left. And her mind is just as burdened as her heart is wondrously blessed, for Apollo himself spoke to her in vivid dreams where lions prowl and stallions graze, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. He spoke of unlikely soulmates finding one another in the midst of gruesome battles and eternal glory, he spoke of Thanatos wandering with wings of death the roaring waters of the river Styx, Hades' ferryman rowing by his side as their tune calls out to the golden beast. She looks at Hector then, delicate fingers reaching out to thread through curly locks.

 

"Oh, my darling boy, you have yet to walk the path of destiny designed for you by fate and gods, but you are still so eager to discover who it is that shall first break you and then hold your heart, who shall hate you before loving you like no one has ever been loved."

 

He does not dare to interrupt her mesmerising monologue, he's grown used to the beautiful telltale morals of her words. And so, he waits, despite the youthful jollity and innate agitation that builds up, he waits for revelations that he will not understand until much later, when life will be a gift and love a blessing disguised in a storm of rage and instincts born to hunt eternal glory.

 

"Your eyes will meet in war and light, above the screams of slaughtered spirits and foolish pride, protected by the will of a beheaded god. You will see no other face. You will hear no other voice. What is yours shall be returned, the lion's gaze shall become pure, and you will see each other for who you truly are, two souls bonded for eternity before the mighty gods."

 

Silence falls upon them while she beckons him into the comfort of her arms. She speaks no more. He does not ask.

 


	2. Fated Meetings

When they finally meet, everything is a reflection of what his mother said. A spear whizzes by with ungodly speed, piercing intricate armour only to embed itself deep into the chest of a Trojan soldier. He could have easily been the target, it is more than clear, but he's been spared. Why. He finds out the second his shocked gaze leaves the fallen body. Blinded by the scorching rays of the sun, they stare into each other's dichromatic eyes above the blood and carnage tainting smooth sand. Across the beach, the legendary lion hailed by stories far and wide, feared by allies and enemies alike, stands in all his glory on the stairs of a desecrated temple, the beheaded statue of Apollo a reminder of his ruthless might.

 

From this first glance, it only takes a moment for a burning sensation to drown Hector's blue orb in white fire. He closes it instinctively, watching the other man mirror his action with his good eye. Just as quickly as it came, the pain is gone and neither needs to see their each other's eyes to know that once different irises now match their counterparts. This, nothing else but this revelatory... mishap... fortune... mayhap curse, is more than enough for both of them to understand the magnitude of what fate has in store for them, two souls tied by destiny against their will, two souls meant to twirl into a dance of foes, eager to shed blood, to kill. A prince of Troy, a stallion, and a Greek, a gilded beast.

 

The wave of ire that soon follows breaks the spell, leaving behind an odd lust for tainted ichor and revenge. Only metres away from the enemy, the prince is open and vulnerable to the horde of Greeks teeming the shores, but he is no coward as he spurs his horse on, spear in hand, ready for the throw. It misses by inches, too weak and too slow to even graze skin. And, just like the fool he has been told so many times he is, he follows the man inside, knowing very well it is a trap, but letting curiosity get the better out of him at the expense of his men's lives... perhaps even his own. Vitreous eyes stare into nothingness as he steps over icy bodies, stomach tying itself into knots at the mere sight of innocent blood still seeping through the priests' pristine garments. The fury inside flares with renewed vigour, the shouts of battle suddenly surrounding him all but tuned out, even as his blade sinks into hard flesh, steady feet carrying him with cautious steps towards the arrogant Greek prowling in the dark.

 

Warm brown meets electric blue and he absolutely _loathes_ the way that intense gaze sends pleasant shivers up and down his spine, an involuntary response fueled by his very own desire stirring in his loins. He chooses to put the entire blame on his body, on the gods who cursed him in this way just like he is cursing the weaknesses of mortals instead of listening to his heart. He knows that, if he does, it will be the end of him.

 

"You are very brave or very stupid to come after me alone."

 

His soulmate's voice is deep and smooth, bouncing off the temple's walls with arrogant echoes as it reaches his ears long before his eyes finally spot the predator lurking in the shadows.

 

"You must be Hector."

 

Another bout of shivers rakes his body at the sound of his name sliding past full lips and he takes in a shaky breath, swallowing the lump forming in his throat while he watches the blond rise into the dim light, toned muscles flexing with every twitch of movement that harbours a latent flame of lethal strength.

 

"Do you know who I am?"

 

Oh, he knows very well who his opponent is... in more ways than one... he wishes he didn't. Silent rage breaks forth, and, rather than answering, he lets the feeling overpower his soulmate instinct for a moment.

 

"These priests weren't armed."

 

Sword clashes against sword then, the clink of metal reverberating so loud, so wrong in the sacrosanct room, faces only inches away as contrasting orbs bore into the depths of one another.

 

"Fight me!"

 

It's urgent and desperate, an unwavering plea to provoke Achilles' simmering thirst for royal blood as Hector puts all his strength into their deadlock. The Greek warrior doesn't indulge him however, doesn't push back, but simply steadies his weapon with minimal effort.

 

"Why kill you now, prince of Troy? With no one here to see you fall?"

 

Gritting his teeth, he presses on. The nerve of this man! Anger blurs his mind long enough to prevent him from expecting the abrupt change of tactics. Swiftly, the power standing behind enemy blade is gone and so is the man wielding it as Hector stumbles forward, a flash of gold setting off his reflexes. Clinks of metal kissing metal shadow their gracefully brutal dance of strikes and parries whilst they sidestep in a never-ending circle, feral, caged by their own souls and fate's irony. Soon, where Hector tires, Achilles seems to become stronger. Where Hector begins to stutter in his defence, Achilles becomes stronger, sure and nimble in his attacks despite the previous battle.

 

An impulsive mistake is all it takes for the Greek to swerve the weapon out of his hand before twisting his arm behind his back in an instant, Myrmidon sword resting its sharp edge under the prince's chin.

 

A threat.

 

A demonstration.

 

A promise.

 

A deadly promise for the fool who thought he can defeat Achilles.

 

They're close, _too close_. Soft puffs of air caress the back of his neck whilst the tang of leather, metal and blood fills his nostrils. He stays still.

 

"Why did you come here?"

 

The reply comes without hesitation, right beside his ear, warm breath tickling the shell as the Achilles' baritone vibrates down the column of his neck..

 

"They'll be talking about this war for a thousand years."

 

"In a thousand years the dust from our bones will be gone."

 

Silence. There's only silence for a while. He flinches in shock when lips press lightly on the expanse of bronze skin covering the juncture between neck and shoulder, so gentle in its brush that he almost melts into the hard chest radiating heat behind him, so gentle it leaves him speechless. Something throbs inside him then. He wants to give in, he wants to give up, to throw away his duty as protector of Troy and be by his soulmate's side, regardless of allegiance.

 

It startles him to no end, his mind spins, his senses go haywire, but, even so, he notices how loose the grip on his wrist has become and seizes the chance to yank it out of the Myrmidon's grasp and roll to the side, only a trace of red beads painting his skin after the blade scratches the surface. He watches sharp eyes following them as they dribble down and disappear under Trojan armor, seemingly entranced by the sight, tongue peeking out in a sensual glide over dry lips. When their gazes intersect again, they speak of foreign feelings, unattainable wishes, want and regret.

 

"Yes, prince, but our names will remain. _This_ changes nothing."

 

There is no need for him to ask what 'this' is referring to, he knows... certainty along with finality ringing in the man's words. The trudge of soldiers resounds in the dark room, only stopping at their leader's command.

 

He glances one last time into the bright blue irises of the Greek lion before turning to leave, left eye burning, a reminder of what could be, but never will.

 


End file.
